


We were built to fall apart (then fall back together)

by random_firework



Series: 12 Days of Wincestmas 2015 [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comatose Sam, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 11, Samulet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5765338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_firework/pseuds/random_firework
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where they find their way back to each other (with a little help).</p>
            </blockquote>





	We were built to fall apart (then fall back together)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 6th day of Wincestmas on Tumblr.  
> The title comes from the song Out Of The Woods by Taylor Swift.
> 
> Unbeta'd, every mistake is mine. Don't hesitate to let me know if you find a typo or two.
> 
> Comments and constructive reviews are very much appreciated. You don't have to, obviously, but that would be great !

Dean was sitting on a chair. He was shaking but he wasn’t aware of it. His mind was blank, unable to even begin to process what had happened. He didn’t remember the blood, the screams, the route to the hospital, what the doctors had said. All he knew is that Sam was lying in front of him, tubes everywhere, and as white as the sheets of the bed he was in. Dean didn’t feel sad, angry or in pain. He felt nothing. Like he was dead. 

A nurse came in to do whatever she was supposed to do, it’s not like Dean cared anyway. She looked at him, asking him if he wanted to drink something. She wasn’t like this with all the visitors, that wasn’t her freaking job to serve coffees after all, but this one had caught her eyes. He had been sitting here for six hours straight now, not moving, not sleeping either. When he looked up to her, eyes as empty as the void, she felt a shiver running down her spine and she quickly left the individual room. Her shift was almost over. Soon, she would come back home to her husband and eat turkey with chestnuts while listening to Christmas carols. This man would become one of those creepy hospital memories that she tells her friends about and nothing more. 

Of course, Dean didn’t know this. He had barely noticed the nurse, only looking up to her as a reflex, but it was enough to get him out of his torpor. He blinked several times before closing his eyes for a moment. Everything came back to him. The two of them fighting over a hunt and thus over so much more, Sam bursting out of the motel room, duffel in one hand, slamming the door with the other, so upset that he hadn’t looked before crossing the road, never saw the car coming right towards him and running over him before continuing its route like nothing happened. Dean hadn’t saw it either, still brooding over the argument, but he had suddenly felt a part of him cracking, at the same moment as a recognizable sound had made itself heard outside the motel parking lot. He’d stormed out, screaming endless strings of “No”, only interrupted to shout his brother’s name. What had happened then was still blurry but it was enough to bring a single and endless thought to Dean’s mind.

_He hadn’t been there._ He had failed at keeping his brother safe. Again. Because he hadn’t been there for him. 

Dean felt tears rolling down his cheek and he wiped them off, full of rage and self-disgust. He stood up, resisted the temptation to knock everything over and walked out of the room, still shaking. He hadn’t even made it till the end of the corridor when he felt the need to be next to his brother. _Not gonna leave him again, never again, never._ What was the point of being in a place without Sam, anyway ? Everything around him was dull, like black and white, even the Christmas trees and the ridiculous ornaments.

He all but ran back to the room. Sam was still lying in the bed, arms alongside his body. Nonsense, Sam never lied like this. Dean put his left hand on his stomach and the right one near his head. Now Sam could have been sleeping, if you ignored the pipes and the beeps of the machines. Unable to look at his brother’s face without feeling like he was falling into a void, Dean turned around and noticed a plastic bag on the only other chair of the room. Sam’s bloodstained clothes. At its feet, Sam’s duffel. Needing something familiar to hold on to, to prevent him from collapsing, Dean opened it, searching for one of the hoodies Sam used to wear ages ago. He found one, the dark-blue one, under half a dozen books. As he brought it out, he heard something fall on the floor, making a metallic sound. Blood suddenly rushed through his veins, making his head throb, as he picked up the amulet Sam had given him what seemed like a thousand years ago and held it in his open hand. _He had kept it._ Despite everything going wrong then right then wrong again between them, all those years, he had kept it. He had never given up on him, on them. And Dean wouldn’t either.

Necklace still in his fist, he walked over to Sam and pressed his hand. 

“Sam, listen to me,” he began, hoarse from the screaming and the not talking. “Come back. We will figure it out, like we always do. But you have to come back to me.” 

He sat back on the chair next to the bed and spent hours murmuring stories at his brother’s ear, just like he did when they were little and Sam couldn’t fall asleep. Only this time, it was stories about that day they had spent watching Star Wars movies when Sam was sick ; about that summer where their father had left them on their own and it had been like the world was theirs but they only had had eyes for each other ; or about that Christmas day where Dean had drove all the way to Stanford to surprise Sam. 

A nurse came around 6 in the morning. She hadn’t been there the evening before but her colleagues had told her about the two brothers in the room 816. She entered the room silently, expecting to find the older man asleep too, but he was very much awake, watching his brother intently, like he could bring him back just with the strength of his mind. She did what she had to do as fast as she could and said to the man, before walking out of the room: “Merry Christmas, sir. I’m sure everything will be alright.” Of course, she knew it was far from the truth. The doctors were pessimistic about the man hit by a car who had been in a coma since 4 pm the day before. 

Dean had noticed the nurse this time, but he didn’t care about her. He had stopped talking around 5, unable to make any more sound come from his aching throat. He was resting his head as close to his brother’s as possible and caressing his hair, deposing soft kisses on his forehead from time to time, when he suddenly felt Sam’s hand twitched under his. 

 

When the stream of nurses and doctors finally ended, Sam said, weakly:

“Me being in a coma isn’t an enough good reason to rummage through my stuff.”

He spread his arm to touch the amulet hanging from Dean’s neck and smiled, before letting his head fall on the pillow, and turning it to face his brother.

Dean didn’t answer. There was so much he needed to say, but his eyes were beginning to close in spite of him. It could wait. For the moment, Sam was there, alive, right next to him. That was all that mattered. And he intended to keep it that way. So he smiled back to him and whispered, praying that he would be able to say it again for many, many years: “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading !


End file.
